


Loyalty

by Erimenthetic



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Eventual AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erimenthetic/pseuds/Erimenthetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love then, is nothing more than the always choosing, the always striving, the always affirming yes. A slow burn through the events of Mass Effect 2. Eventual Shoker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grounded

The pulsing bass of Dark Star isn't enough to burn Joker's thoughts away, and neither is the fifth shot of alien liquor.

Grounded. 

It'd taken the court martial less than an hour to remove his wings. Fucking kangaroo court.

So what if he'd stolen the Normandy twice? He'd paid for his sins the first time, and saved the galaxy the second. Gotten a fucking medal for it too. But now he was 'unstable'? A fucking 'liability'? While reg breaking Alenko made Commander?

Well fuck that, and fuck Alenko for going quiet about the Reaper threat. Joker slams another shot, adding the empty glass to his growing graveyard.

After Alchera, Joker had been careful to stay away from alcohol. Because when you'd just killed your CO, one beer was hard to differentiate from twelve, and that shit would get you grounded. Properly drunk now, Joker can appreciate the irony. 

The world tilts precariously. Shit. This is why he doesn't drink. He gestures to the bartender for another. Maybe the Turian pouring drinks will just let him sleep here.

If they'd wanted to ground him for killing Shepard, Joker would have understood, hell, he wouldn't have even fought it. But that's not the reason his wings are gone. For fuck's sake, they let him fly for almost two months before it became obvious he wasn't planning to forget the word 'Reaper' as instructed. Only then had the charges been brought.

Of course, they'd had to find a way that didn't incriminate the rest of Shepard's surviving crew. No one liked a government who shamed their war heroes. 

There's a thought that deserves a drink. Joker's pretty sure the secrets of the universe are at the bottom of this bottle. Won't be sure until he gets there, of course, so he chugs the beer. Nope. Maybe the next one. Definitely one of the next three, though the bartender is giving him that look like he's one hiccup away from being cut off for the night. Shit.

Fucking stuff doesn't even have a damn label to peel while he waits for the Turian to bring another.

The stool beside him gains an occupant, bar stool squealing a little as it turns to face him.

"Hello," his new neighbor says, voice just the right amount of throaty. He thinks about flirting with the perfect legs (can't be bothered to look any further up), but one night stands aren't really his thing. 'Do be careful not to shatter my pelvis' is a pick-up line with a standard return somewhere between nervous laughter and open-mouthed horror.

"Not my type," he says instead. No, his type is more along the lines of knows condition, knows to be careful, won't leave after snapping my tibia.

The woman snorts, and alright, to be fair, she's probably everyone's type. Joker raises his gaze to take her in. Nice curves, pretty face, tiniest little gap between her front teeth so that all you can think about is her hot, wet mouth.

"The name's Miranda Lawson, Mr. Moreau."

Shit. If she knows his name, that means she's Alliance, and if she's Alliance, that means he's about to be dishonorably discharged. He pulls the brim of his cap lower. It's not a huge surprise, though he'd hoped- What had he hoped? That someone would figure out the Reapers were real? That they'd put him at the helm of a new ship and let him figure out how to do right by Shepard? He's not usually one for blind optimism.

"Fuck off and court martial me in the morning." Joker swings his stool to the other side, and motions to the Turian for another round.

"I'm not Alliance, Mr. Moreau," the woman says, and if she were talking to a wad of gum on the bottom of her patent leather heel, the tone would probably be the same. "I've come to offer you a job."

A job, sure. Anyone come calling after Alchera is a damned idiot, and no one he's interested in hiring on with. "Ah, my mistake. In that case, just fuck off." 

The bartender sure is taking his sweet time with the alcohol. Joker's uninvited guest doesn't leave. "Fuck you, lady, can't you see-"

"My sources lead me to believe that you were interested in stopping the Reaper threat. Was I misinformed?" 

And he's definitely had too much to drink for this conversation. Or possibly not enough. "Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you know about me?"

Four perfectly manicured nails drum against the bar. "Miranda Lawson, Cerberus. I oversee the Lazarus Project." Cerberus, it sounds familiar, but Joker can't place it, though his brain's fuzzy enough he's not surprised. "You are Jeff Moreau, Alliance. Best helmsman since the invention of FTL technology. Grounded because you won't shut your mouth."

He sighs. "So you have extranet access. Should I be impressed?" He is, though, despite himself. Chick must be a journalist. He'd give her an interview if it didn't come with a side helping of treason (the Alliance had been really fucking clear about that). Knowing his luck she works for the Universal Enquirer or some shit. The thought of "Reaper Force Threatens Galaxy" running beside "Star of 'Blasto' Admitted for Rehab" is one part hilarious and two parts nauseating.

Lawson ignores his comment and hands over a datapad, flicking through the screens faster than his blurry vision can keep up. "The Alliance will have you flying again in sixth months, so long as you meet behavioral requirements. These are the orders you're set to receive when you get your wings back."

"You hacked the Alliance?" Joker asks, though he can't bring himself to feel the outrage he probably ought. He scans the document. They're planning to lift his suspension, he'll get to fly again. He can wait six months- 

It takes a couple tries, but eventually the words before him process. Shuttle duty. On the Citadel cargo route. Automated flights, pilots on board only in case of emergency. Maybe he'll see if the Turian will pour him a couple shots of Ryncol.

Lawson watches as his face falls, then changes screens. "These are your most recent medical charts, and this," another swipe, "is the medical plan our physicians have come up with. We'll replace or adjust your IM rods as necessary, then start you on a regimen of biophosphonates. You'll have access to Project Lazarus' top of the line physical therapists. In addition, we'd like to break, reset, and repair the fracture on your left femur with a cloned bone graft." 

The woman rattles this off like a grocery list, but to Joker it's a world of possibility he's never let himself consider. The rods in his bones haven't been touched since they went in at age fifteen, and they've not grown with his bones, so now every step is a sort of burning torture. They're his third set, though, and by the time the doctors stitched him up after the procedure, he'd burned through his parents' retirement fund twice over. And everyone knows IM rods are an 'elective procedure' under Alliance insurance, even if they're the only things that allow him to walk.

Lawson's speaking again, "The frigate currently in construction for your use surpasses the Normandy on all technical fronts." She rattles off a list of specs, and the drive core alone is enough to make his head spin.

To fly again, to walk unaided, it's unthinkable. It's a dream. It's-

"Cerberus," Joker spits. He remembers now. Remembers Kahoku, remembers the Rachni, remembers Toombs.

Lawson turns half a smile his way, completely confident he won't be able to resist the offer in front of him. "Cerberus indeed, Mr. Moreau. Do we have our helmsman?"

"Let me get this straight," Joker says. "You look at me and see a broken man with authority issues. And you think that because I'm verbal about my disagreement with the brass I'll sign on with the first terrorist group with a fucking ship. You think that my disease makes me morally bankrupt, and that I'll sell my soul for some metal rods."

Rage burns through him, white-hot, until he's shaking. Joker presses both palms flat against the bar, struggling not to clench them into fists.

"Let me tell you something, Cerberus. Those marines you experimented on? They were my brothers. The soldiers slaughtered on Akuze? They were my sisters. I would rather die than betray them. I may just fly the damn ship, but it's an Alliance ship."

The Cerberus operative pinches her mouth into an unpleasant moue before responding. "Very noble, I'm sure." She pulls up another screen on the pad held in Joker's white-knuckled grip. "This," she says, "is project Lazarus. Our plan to destroy the Reaper threat."

More than half the document has been redacted, but what remains tells one clear story. Cerberus believes Shepard. Cerberus is taking the fight to the Reapers.

Cerberus.

Joker went to one counseling session after Akuze. He hadn't slept for four days, and he thought he was ready to hear 'survivor's guilt' and 'PTSD' like such common terms could describe the hell inside his head. He hadn't gotten the peace he was after, but he did remember the look in the woman's eyes when she'd told him, "When you kill someone, Mr. Moreau, it becomes incumbent upon you to live for two instead of one."

He's fucking fine watching the Universe burn if no one will heed the warnings. Hell, right now he might light a match. But Shepard wouldn't.

The silence stretches. Maybe if he's quiet long enough, the woman will leave and take the choice with her.

Would Shepard sign on with demons if it meant saving the universe?

"I'm listening," Joker says at last.

Lawson smirks. "Excellent. I never settle for anything less than the best." One more swipe at the screen reveals an address, date, and time. "There's quite a bit more to tell, Mr. Moreau. I hope to see you there."


	2. The Lazarus Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker sets foot on Lazarus station for the first time.

Joker would tape his own eyes open and watch the Blasto sequels on repeat for six days before he'd admit it, but he likes Kelly. 

Don't get him wrong, the yeoman is obviously snitching on all of them to the Illusive Man. She's a horrible spy, and honestly, yeoman? There haven't been yeomen in space since the invention of a functioning VI. But she spies on everyone, even Miranda, and the pinched expression Lawson gets whenever Kelly's nearby makes it all worthwhile.

And maybe he likes that Kelly doesn't exempt him from her universal flirting. Even before his Cerberus sponsored surgeries, she'd always made it quite clear that she'd take him to bed. He's not interested, or even flattered (it's not exactly an exclusive group), but he appreciates the offer.

She's sitting beside him now in the co-co-pilot chair of Cerberus' gigantic MSV Lhoste, fingers flying furiously, probably sending another report to her boss.

"Would you say Miranda was tetchy after returning from Fehl Prime?" Kelly asks, fingers paused. "Or maybe agitated?"

Joker suppresses a grin. He'd say Miranda was bitchy. Is bitchy. All the fucking time. Hell, she'd chewed Jacob out like he'd been the one to wipe the Alliance research station's hard drives. Bad luck that the one Collector attack to leave survivors for clean up was also the one they most needed information from.

Joker slides the ship into the docking bay, perfectly, despite the fact that the Cerberus cruiser is more brick than boat. The Lhoste is no Normandy, but Joker has her dancing just the same. Not that any of these Neanderthals know enough to appreciate his superb flying. He could save their asses from an erupting volcano and they'd complain he'd let in too much ash. 

"Mr. Moreau." Miranda's voice could curdle milk. If Joker's nearly come to enjoy working for Cerberus (if they've yet to have success against the Reapers, at least it's not for lack of trying), Miranda is his personal reminder not to get too comfortable.

He quirks an eyebrow in her direction because he knows it irritates her not to get a verbal response.

"You will be disembarking at Lazarus station today. There's something you need to see."

Joker's gut clenches. In the eleven months he's flown for the Lazarus Cell, he's never set foot on the station which bears the same name. He drops and picks up Miranda and Jacob, and then returns to Bethany station where he's housed. As far as he knows, no one else on the team has ever been inside Lazarus.

And, well, it's not like Miranda left him a choice in the matter.

Is this the part where they begin experiments on his crippled ass? This is why you don't sign on with a terrorist organization, Jeff. Shit. They sure did a fine job fixing his rods if they were just planning to kill him. They wouldn't waste an investment like that, right? 

Right, because a cash flush terrorist organization is definitely going to sweat the pocket change they spent fixing him.

Joker's nearly nauseous with nerves as he stands and follows Miranda to the airlock. The door cycles open to reveal a shuttle bay nearly identical to the one on Bethany station. No smears of blood and gore, and that's a good, clean sign. Or the sign of a good cleaning staff.

Miranda makes two lefts, then a right through a door which requires a retinal scan to unlock. There's someone in the hallway in front of him. Torturer? Scientist? Is there a difference? 

The woman turns, and her pale gray hair parts to reveal a face he knows well.

"Doc?" Chakwas is supposed to be back at Bethany, helping to design a state of the art mobile medical center. As Joker nears, it's clear she's been crying, her eyes puffy and red. "Karin?"

"Oh, Jeff." She grabs his hand, and her fingers tremble as they squeeze his own.

Doc didn't cry after Jenkins, nor after Virmire. She's stitched up wounds and healed soldiers for longer than Joker's been alive, and whatever's through that door has made a wreck of the unflappable Chakwas.

"What's the matter? What have they done?"

Chakwas just shakes her head, eyes filling with fresh tears. "Go. Go see."

He spins and pushes past Miranda into the next room. The familiar smell of disinfectant and hospital hits his nose, and he feels queasy all over again with thirty years of remembered pain. The lights glare off pale floors and walls. There must be ten beds in the room, but only one is occupied.

Dread dogs his steps, and it takes Joker twice as long to cross the room as it should. The sheets are folded into tight corners at the foot of the bed. The heart rate monitor beeps its soft rhythm. It takes more willpower than he'd like to admit, but finally Joker forces himself to look.

The figure on the bed is Shepard.

The rooms spins, and Joker has just enough presence of mind to find a chair before his legs absent themselves.

Shepard.

What the fuck has Cerberus done? Hallucinogens? Maybe he's suffered from some sort of psychological break. The chest of the body before him rises with breath, and Joker wants to die. There is no finer torture than this.

The not-Shepard has scars across her cheeks, glowing orange with cybernetics. Her hair is limp and lifeless. The real Shepard is dead, he watched her get spaced. He's the reason she got spaced.

"What have you done?" Anger makes his voice shake. Is nothing sacred here?

"I thought you'd be pleased, Mr. Moreau."

"Pleased? You think I'll be pleased over a clone?" 

"Not a clone, Mr. Moreau," Miranda says. "This is Shepard, back from the dead."

"Shepard's body burnt up entering the atmosphere of Alchera." That's why they'd buried an empty casket. There weren't even dog tags to put in the ground.

"We acquired the Commander shortly after your run in with the Collectors. Her suit did a remarkable job protecting her body, all things considered. Most of what you see here is augmented by extensive skin, muscle, and bone weaves, but the damage was repairable."

The Lazarus Project. He gets it now. Hilarious. They've made a fucking zombie, because heaven forbid she be allowed to rest in peace.

"She couldn't have had more than three hour's worth of oxygen. Even if you somehow got her breathing again, she's brain dead. Why-" He has to swallow back a knot of emotion before he's able to finish his question. "Why would you do this to her?"

"You will find I am not defeated by the constraints of modern medicine, Mr. Moreau."

She's a fucking mad woman. No. This is unacceptable. Shepard gave her life to save him, and he won't sit idly by while these monsters use her body as a plaything. Two years of limbo is enough. 

Joker stumbles to his feet and grabs at the IV line. He tears away the sensors which mottle Shepard's body. If this is the only thing he can do for her, Joker will make sure she dies.

Miranda's pistol clicks softly as it unfolds, the barrel resting against his forehead. "Step away from the Commander, Mr. Moreau, or I will put a bullet through your skull."

Is it a good use of the life Shepard sacrificed for him to save her body from desecration? Uncertainty makes him stagger backwards. 

"Let her go."

"I assure you, Mr. Moreau, that Commander Shepard is very much alive, with brain function. We waited until she had woken to inform both yourself and Doctor Chakwas."

Miranda begins the process of replacing the sensors. Joker can't see through the tears in his eyes. "She woke up?"

"Yes, Mr. Moreau, yesterday. We expect to have her ready to direct the attack against the Collectors by the end of the month."

She woke up. Shepard woke up. Shepard is alive.

Joker grabs one of Shepard's hands, the skin soft and uncalloused, but warm. 

He sits and sobs.


	3. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard returns to the Normandy.

"What do you think, Commander? Pretty nice digs, right?" 

Chambers has just left them alone in Shepard's quarters after completing the grand tour, and Joker's commandeered the swivel chair at the desk to spin in. Every rotation shows him the same shell-shocked expression on the Commander's face as the pass before. 

It takes her a minute to respond. "I'm supposed to think the aquarium is a waste of resources, right? It's kinda nice though, I've never had a pet." She presses her palm flat against the glass, peering into the empty water. "Unless you count street rats?"

"This isn't a children's vid, Shepard. No one counts the rats."

She laughs. The sound bubbles in his blood, and Joker wonders if it will always feel like this. Like every quirk of her lips or ringing footfall, like every proof of life is a gift meant just for him. Tiny mercies he has no chance of deserving.

Joker stops the spin of his chair just long enough to return her smile. There's not much in the way of safe conversational subjects, but he figures Cerberus hate has to be on the list. "You know your room's bugged, right?"

Her nose scrunches in displeasure as she nods. "And Chambers and Lawson are both reporting my every move."

Never misses a trick, his CO.

The drawers slide open and bang shut as she inspects each one, though whether she's sweeping for bugs or just inspecting the contents, Joker can't tell.

"Is it weird that they had clothes tailored for me? I mean, sure, I was naked on Lawson's operating table for the last two years, but clothing measurements could have waited until I was awake."

"Would have made the two firefights you've gotten into in the last 24 hours a sight more interesting," Joker says. "And bravo, by the way. Outpacing your own record for inciting violence." He tips his cap. "And with flair."

"One of those started before I was even awake, I hardly think I can be held responsible." 

Jeff hums noncommittally. 

"You know Tali wasn't surprised to see me alive?"

And so the safe subjects are dismissed. Well Joker's not going to tell her that he sent messages to the whole crew of the SR-1 three weeks ago when he found out she was alive. Because telling her that would mean telling her that no one had come. Telling her that would be admitting that without her to guide them, everyone had given up the Reaper fight. That it's only him and Chakwas and a whole lot of empty space where there used to be family.

"Weird," he settles on saying. It's possible, after all, that everyone has been refusing his messages. If one of them had killed Shepard, he probably wouldn't be a very good pen-pal either.

Tension stretches between them until it's obvious he's failing some sort of friend-test. And this is why he keeps to the bridge. What is he supposed to say? Little known fact- his communication incompetence is not an act.

Shepard is the one to break the growing tension. "You're going to have to translate the engine specs you were drooling over into layman."

"I figured." He smears condescension into his voice. In distraction and avoidance he's an ace.

Shepard turns from her inspection of the closet, mock outrage in her eyes.

"Hell, Shepard, any improvements Cerberus made stopped short of removing the glaze your eyes get the moment you hear 'Tantalus core.'"

"Someone should buy you an etiquette book," Shepard says.

"Not sure the market's there for What to Say and Do When Your Commander Comes Back from the Dead," he answers. 

Shepard kicks the chair's height lever in retaliation, sending him plummeting six inches. "If I'm going to have to listen to engine jargon, I'm not really sure why I keep you around."

"No one is sure why you keep me around." The damn chair won't go back up, no matter how hard he pulls. "Maybe someone should write a poem to remind us. Let's see, what rhymes with Therum?"

"Shut up," Shepard says, but she's grinning.

He stretches, trying to pull some of the stiffness from his back. Even with Cerberus' work, walking tours are still bad fucking ideas. Seeing his baby was worth it though. Every square inch of her is perfect.

There's a frown on Shepard's face. "How's your arm?" she asks.

It takes Joker a second to place the question's context, and in that time Shepard realizes her mistake in chronology.

She coughs.

"It wasn't broken," he offers. 

"Good," she says. "Good." Her death stands between them, impenetrable. "Are we, are we not supposed to talk about my being dead?" At Joker's blank stare, Shepard rushes on. "Because I get that, I can totally not talk about it. It's just-"

"A fucking big thing to not talk about."

She huffs out a hard breath that might be an aborted laugh. "Yeah."

"I think since you're the one who died, you're the one who gets to decide how much it's talked about. My arm was fine, sprained for a couple of weeks, nothing bad."

The topic is uncomfortable. He killed her and they're here talking about his arm? But the tension is bleeding from her shoulders just the same.

"Sorry for the manhandling."

"I'm pretty sure when you save someone's life you don't have to apologize."

"Still," she says. "Come here." Shepard offers him a hand up and wraps him in an embrace so tight it nearly hurts. He lets his own tentative fingers rest against her back. 

They stand that way for some time. Eventually she whispers, "I'm so glad you're here."

That's his line, but she can have it, if she wants. "There's nowhere else I would be."

*~*~*

Their first stop is to the Citadel and Anderson, which surprises no one but Miranda. The XO's left gaping when they bypass Omega and the Illusive Man's directives. Her displeasure is felt if not heard. Hell, who's Joker kidding? Her displeasure is heard and heard again.

The SR-1, born as it was of joint human and Turian interests, received a prime docking location. The reserved bay between the Destiny Ascension and the Indomitable benefited from easy access to C-Sec and a dry/wet dock which allowed for repairs and inspection without towing.

The Normandy SR-2 is granted no such luxuries. Traffic control directs Joker to the ass end of the Zakera ward docks, and there's barely enough room to squeeze the Normandy between the ships on either side, one a decaying merchant vessel and the other a cluster of scrap metal held together with mass effect fields and a prayer. Still, it's nothing Joker can't handle, and the ship settles home perfectly.

The docking clamps, however, have seen one too many hulls, and they drag and scratch along the freshly painted surface, marring the Normandy's perfect body. Joker shudders. Maybe if he asks nicely, Shepard will pick up some touchup paint on her way back from meeting with Anderson.

The Commander's hand on his shoulder makes Joker jump.

"All good?"

His skin burns where her fingers sit. "Commander, can I get a mirror up here? You know, so I can see when someone's standing behind me?"

Shepard brushes microscopic lint from the lapel of her uniform, but while she's sporting the same black and white as the rest of the crew, the Cerberus logo is suspiciously absent. Joker would think they'd forgotten to add it if not for the line of fine stitches making a single x across her breast. "I'll look into it, Lieutenant."

The airlock hisses closed, and Joker brings up Shepard's feed. She's gone alone, no surprise as her only viable backup is a couple of Cerberus flunkies. Not exactly the best sign of good faith walking into a meeting with the Admiral.

The vid feed shows a city of transients living just outside the ship, a mess of alien life too unsavory or too ill to make it past C-Sec and into the wards proper. A wave of voices filter through Shepard's audio pickup, catcalls and pleas for help battering from all sides.

Then the scanner thinks Shepard's dead.

"I was listed as missing in action a few years ago," Shepard says. It's a lie. She was listed as killed in action. Because she was dead. Her empty coffin laid in state for three days while dignitaries came to play politics and grapple for power. The whole damned thing had been broadcast over the extranet. There's no way the Turian manning the scanner doesn't remember, but he lets her through anyway.

Then the human working the desk, Bailey, brings Shepard back to life with the press of a button. Seems there's no form of death which can keep her waylaid for long. Damn if the bureaucratic resurrection isn't almost as impressive as the physical one.

That's all Joker's able to watch, as the Presidium is one huge Faraday cage, and the comms cut out as the rapid transit car crosses the threshold.

Shepard's video returns an hour later, though she doesn't hail the ship. So it went well then. Joker lets out a disappointed sigh. He's not sure why he bothered to hold his breath. When the brass close their eyes to something, they keep them closed.

She still hasn't said a word when the airlock finishes its decontamination process and Joker switches off the feeds.

Her presence is heavy behind him, and because he doesn't know what to say, he doesn't say anything.

"Two years." He knows, he remembers. "Two years and they've done nothing. Anderson wouldn't even tell me where Kaidan is."

"I'm sorry." Those idle words won't change anything, but they're enough to draw a weary smile from Shepard. She falls into the seat beside him.

"Set course for Omega."

The next time Joker sees her, Shepard's wearing a uniform with the Cerberus logo reattached.


	4. Starting Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Archangel joins the team.

Omega is a shit hole among shit holes, a last shelter for wild animals to curl up in and die. Also, it looks like the sort of place to give you lice or ticks or scale itch (and why can humans get scale itch?), which makes Joker exceptionally glad he's watching from the safety of the Normandy's cockpit. Bridge. Whatever.

Afterlife has embraced the station's rotting atmosphere with open arms. The music is loud enough to be deafening, even in the VIP section where the club owner sits, and the fuscia lighting may just be the only color Asari don't look good in. Whoever designed this place should be charged with crimes against humanity. Or at least crimes against bored pilots.

"Well, aren't you sweet." The Batarian's voice drifts over the comms. "You're in the wrong place, Honey. Stripper's quarters are that way."

Joker knows a moment of terror for the unnamed Batarian, even as he switches out Shepard's feed for Miranda's. Sure he feels a little bad for the guy, but that doesn't mean he's going to miss out on a show. 

Shepard has three different guns visible on her armor, but to Joker's great disappointment, she doesn't pull any of them. Instead she just stares at the Batarian, one finger brushing the Predator at her hip.

"Come on, how about a little brandishing for the folks at home?" Joker says. Can he help that he likes his CO with guns blazing?

The corner of Shepard's mouth curls, something between a smirk and a sneer, and it intimidates the Batarian into moving the meeting along.

A few minutes later, Shepard breaks some kid's gun with her bare hands. Joker should probably find that more disturbing than he does, but it's almost a little hot. She hands it back in pieces.

After the mechs have been sabotaged, and the ground team stands waiting to cross the bottlenecked bridge, Joker closes Miranda and Jacob's comms. "Wrote you a poem, Commander."

"What?" Her vid feed upends as she rolls into cover. The merc in front of her doesn't have a chance.

"You know, like we talked about.  
There once was a man from Arcturus-"

The cackle of her laughter rewards the first line, and Joker waits until the pop of gunfire quiets to continue.

" Who learned how to pilot a space bus.  
He took down a Reaper,  
In a volcano flew deeper,  
That he's handsome is only a plus."

"Jeff, I can't aim while I'm laughing." The three freelancers that fall before her belie the statement.

The Turian has barricaded himself on the upper balcony, making the bridge into a kill shoot. Joker's seen Shepard come through worse unscathed, but she makes the run so problem-free that it seems like this Archangel isn't even trying.

Jacob takes a concussive round to the shoulder, but while his shields drop, the Turian doesn't send another round his way until they've regenerated.

The sound of metal feet on stairs, and then, "Archangel?"

The Turian snipes the last of the wave of mercs, then turns and pops the seal of his helmet. 

It's Garrus.

Joker chokes on thin air. He hasn't seen the Turian since Shepard's funeral, and the intervening years have been anything but kind. Seems as though Joker's not been the only one to flirt with self-harming impulses. He'd willingly walked into the arms of Cerberus, and Garrus had pissed off an entire station worth of gangs.

But Garrus is genuinely surprised to see Shepard alive, which means he hadn't abandoned her like the rest. He might be a mess, but at least he's there.

The mercs return, and Shepard and Garrus turn from their conversation to fight. 

The attack drags on for hours, and Garrus is visibly fading. Too many days of stims would be Joker's guess. Still, it looks like everything is going as planned. One more wave, and the team will be able to return to the Normandy.

The ship's scanners ding. "Incoming gunship, on your eleven," Joker says.

The ground team scrambles for cover, but Garrus isn't linked into the comms, so he remains standing just a second too long. His shields fall, but he rolls behind a crate before the bullets do any real damage.

Shepard pops from cover, shoots, ducks. Her shields whine in protest against a bullet she doesn't quite avoid. It's Miranda's count to shoot, but something, and his eyes never leave Shepard, posses Garrus, and he dives into exposure. 

Just in time to catch a rocket to the face. 

"Rolston, Chakwas," Joker radios. "Report to the shuttle now. I'm sending coordinates. Maintain distance until I give the all clear. Prepare for pickup, at least one injury, active combatants, at least one airborne."

It takes the ground team too long to down the gunship. There's no medigel for Garrus' injured face, because his damned helmet is still sitting on the balcony railing. EDI is running a probability of survival calculation for Garrus, and one of Joker's screens displays a rapidly falling number.

Finally, the gunship plummets. 

Joker green lights Rolston and the doc. They have maybe three minutes before the fire clears enough to allow more combatants to cross the bridge.

"Joker," Shepard's voice never wavers, but now that she's crouched over Garrus, Joker sees EDI's calculations were optimistic. He already looks dead. "We need emergency pickup, tell Doctor-" The sound of the shuttle thrusters interrupts. "Ah," she says, "I forgot how good you are."

***

Joker's performing routine Cerberus monitoring- not snooping- when Garrus wakes and goes to see the Commander. 

"Looks like your calculations were wrong, Thing."

"On the contrary, Mr. Moreau. I calculated a five point seven percent chance of Mr. Vakarian's survival. Your quick thinking increased that to eleven point two percent. His current health remains within predicted outcomes."

Joker slams EDI's mute button and brings up the audio from the Communication's Room.

"-sick experiments they were doing?" Garrus asks. The Cerberus thing. Does he not remember Shepard's wrath every time they cleaned out one of those labs? Does he really think she's forgotten?

"That's why I'm glad you're here, Garrus. If I'm walking into hell, I want someone I trust at my side." 

There's a war on, so Joker ignores the ache in his gut and shuts down the feed. Shepard is-

Rolston said the shuttle was flying funny, so Joker pulls up the computer log to see if he can't find the issue. It's probably the damned starboard thruster again. Maybe Garrus will be as good with shuttles as he was with the old Mako.

He's knee deep in numbers when Shepard's hand settles on his shoulder. "That was good work, Lieutenant. Thank you."

"Commander." Joker shrugs. It's not like he'd even done any flying.

Shepard moves into his line of sight. "Really, Joker, I couldn't do this without you." He shrugs again and Shepard rolls her eyes. "We're headed back stationside. Have a couple more idiots to add to the squad. Who knows, maybe this 'Veteran' is really Wrex under an assumed name."

"He sure as hell fits the dossier." There. It is the damned Thruster. Joker sends out a work order to Hawthorne with a notation to let Garrus take a look. "So back to Omega already? You slept since we left Bethany Station?"

Shepard's saved from answering by the arrival of Miranda to the cockpit. It's okay, Joker knows the answer anyway.

"You asked for me, Shepard?" 

"Officer Lawson," Shepard inclines her head. "Two things. I'd like you to accompany me back to Omega at 1300 hours."

"Of course."

"Good. I'm also relieving you from your position as Executive Officer, effective immediately," Shepard says like she might mention they need extra coffee next time they take on supplies.

Miranda's perfect skin flushes tomato red, "You have no right-"

"I have not granted you permission to speak freely, Officer Lawson, but I will explain my orders. One time." Not that Joker's not enjoying the show- Shepard is fantastic when she's angry- but he wishes they were having this conversation somewhere he could eavesdrop but not become an unwitting biotic casualty.

"As Commanding Officer of this ship, the position of XO is mine to give. You are a critical member of my ground team, and as such, you are absent from the Normandy far more than is acceptable for an XO. Moreover, you are not equipped to handle alien crew as your longstanding ties to a human terrorist organization make you suspect."

"And who will you put in my place? The Turian?" Joker wonders if he could surreptitiously film their fight. He's just about to pull up the cockpit's vid feed, when Shepard's next comment stops him dead.

" You will retain your duties as operation officer. The Normandy's new XO is Lieutenant Moreau. "

"You're kidding." Miranda says, so he doesn't have to.

"You are dismissed, Officer Lawson. I will see you in the airlock when we are ready to leave."

Joker's jaw is hanging open.

"Sorry for springing that on you." Shepard sighs. "Wasn't fair of me, but congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant. Though I'm afraid it doesn't come with a pay increase." She frowns. "Probably. I honestly have no idea how Cerberus functions. Do you even draw a paycheck?"

"I'm flattered, Commander, really, but-"

"I didn't promote you to flatter you. What I told Miranda was the truth. I need someone on ship who I respect and who my crew respects. Like it or not, that's you."

He's not command material, that's a truth he knows deep in his bones. "All due respect, Commander, but I'm a recluse, and a cripple, and I don't like people."

"Which makes you good at calling people on their crap. Most of the time you're funny enough you don't even piss them off. You intuit the ground team's needs. You're the best man for the job. But I'm not asking, Joker. I'm your commanding officer, and if you make me pull rank, I will."

"Aye, aye, Commander." He snaps a salute. It's still a fucking bad idea, but he's not sure Miranda is a better one.

Shepard smiles, relieved and grateful. "You'll be good at it, trust me."

When the ground team leaves, EDI's voice comes over the speakers saying, "The Commanding Officer is ashore, XO Moreau has the deck." It's the most frightening thing Joker's ever heard


End file.
